


Wanderer's Lullaby

by EpitomyofShyness



Series: For Want of a Mouse [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dissociation, Ensemble Cast, Families of Choice, Gen, Growing Up, POV Character of Color, Parenthood, Platonic Relationships, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpitomyofShyness/pseuds/EpitomyofShyness
Summary: Mouse took a life to save another. No matter how hard she scrubs, she can’t get the blood off her hands. It’s just her, a silent stranger, and three other kids, one of whom is barely an hour old. She’s never been less okay, and she’s never needed to be stronger.
Series: For Want of a Mouse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931011
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. Indelible

_ The diagrams lied. They were clean and clearly labeled, no red, no screaming. Blood gushes out of the opening Mouse carves across Lori’s old C-Section scar. Carl is yelling, but the sound is distant as she cuts deeper. She focuses on the shapes of muscles and organs. She needs to find the womb, needs to cut it open before Lori’s heart stops. Every second will count for the baby, ticking towards their death if she can’t remove them in time. _

_ She finds the uterus. The baby is moving, sensing their mother’s distress. There is a foot pressing on the shield of muscle that surrounds them. She slows her movements, focused on opening up the wall without cutting the baby. As soon as the incision is made, she pulls the knife back, dropping it to the ground.  _

_ She reaches inside and finds the foot. She moves around until she grasps the other, then drags the child up. They emerge feet first, squirming in distress as they are dragged out of their dying mother. _

_ Mouse cups the too large head, shifting the infant so they are cradled in her arms. They are coated in a thick layer of blood and amniotic fluid, face scrunched up but still not crying.  _

_ “Give her to me!” Beth’s voice snaps Mouse out of her trance. She passes the infant to the older girl, who turns her so she’s facing down. Beth pats her back firmly, and after a moment the child wails. _

_ With the babe safely delivered, Mouse’s gaze returns to Lori. She’s silent now, her head limp in her son’s lap. Her chest doesn’t rise or fall, her lips are pale, and the tear tracks still shine on her cheeks. _

Your fault. _ Mouse stares down at her blood coated arms.  _ You did this.

You killed Lori Grimes.

* * *

Mouse wakes up with a gasp, her heart hammering in her chest. A wave of nausea hits her, and despite how unsteady she feels, she crawls down to the edge of the queen bed, clambering to the floor and stumbling out into the hallway.

There’s no point in fouling up the bathroom, so she wanders dizzily to the backdoor. As she moves the chair blocking it, a low chuffing draws her attention. She looks up to see Yuri, the big brindle-gray livestock guardian dog that helped Michonne save them three days ago. Carl is right behind him, arms folded across his chest and an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Do you even have a knife?” He demands. When Mouse’s shoulders drop, he sighs, marching up to the door and opening it. 

“Patrol,” he commands, and Yuri bounds outside unafraid. They wait to see if the dog will alert them to walkers, but when he just sniffs at the ground, Carl follows.

He takes out his gun, peering about cautiously before he waves Mouse to join him. She does so reluctantly, hurrying over to the bench on the back porch and sitting. She draws her knees up to her chest, feeling less dizzy but still nauseous.

The weather has been steadily warming. Even at night, the humidity is inescapable since it’s no longer possible to control without electricity to run air conditioners, but she still feels a pervasive coldness that makes her shiver. Her nausea comes and goes in waves while tears burn her eyes. Mouse hunches over her knees, biting her lip to fight the urge to cry.

When Carl sits beside her, she jumps, looking away as she begins rocking in place. They have never been close. Mouse thought they might be friends, but then Carl kicked her in the stomach because she wouldn’t let him steal a gun. She did her best to avoid him after that, not wanting to inflict her presence where it wasn’t wanted.

A hand lands on Mouse’s back, drawing a harsh shudder from the small girl. She continues rocking in place, but Carl doesn’t pull away. He moves his hand lightly, up between her shoulders and then back down. 

She curls in on herself, shaking her head as more tears spill down her cheeks.  _ I’m so sorry. _ The words stick in her throat, leaving her as silent as those first days with Edwin. She can’t write anymore or sign to Beth. Her hands cramp and her chest seizes with panic when she tries.

They sit quietly until the backdoor creaks, revealing Michonne with her sword strapped to her back. “My watch,” the woman states, glancing between the children but not commenting. “Come back inside.” 

“Okay,” Carl agrees, getting off the bench and offering Mouse a hand. “Come on.”

She takes his hand, allowing him to guide her back into the house. Yuri follows them and Michonne shuts the door, blocking it once more with the chair.

“Go lie down,” Michonne tells Carl. “Mouse can rest on the couch.”

The boy nods, heading to the bedroom where Beth and the baby are still asleep. Michonne places a hand on Mouse’s back, guiding her to the living room. She presses her down onto the couch, covers her with a blanket, and then sits in a lounge chair facing the front windows.

Mouse doesn’t think she can sleep. Yuri, however, has other ideas. He climbs onto the couch, sprawling across the opposite end but laying his large head on her hip. He wuffs, licking his lips and nudging at her eagerly.

With a sniffle, Mouse reaches down and strokes his head. He closes his eyes, relaxing visibly as she continues to pet him.

“Get some rest.” Michonne’s flat voice is unmistakable. She never looks at Mouse when she speaks, rarely looks at any of them.

Mouse closes her eyes. She hopes she’ll be able to sleep, knows if she doesn’t she’ll be an even greater burden to the group. She brushes her fingers over Yuri’s large head, the motions only pausing when he presses his cold wet nose to the side of her hand. She isn’t sure if she ever falls asleep, if the memories flashing behind her lids are dreams or simply her tormented thoughts. Regardless, when Beth shakes her shoulder, she is tired beyond description.

They gather around the dining table in the light of early dawn. Beth feeds the baby on formula found at a nursery Michonne guided them to the first night on the road. She cradles the infant with an ease Mouse wishes she could match. Carl passes out five crackers to each person, placing a jar of peanut butter in the middle of the table. It’s almost empty.

She has no appetite, but when Carl kicks her leg, Mouse forces herself to move. Methodically she eats, scraping the smallest measure of peanut butter she can onto each cracker and chewing despite the way her throat closes in revulsion.

Mouse rises to clear the table when everyone finishes their meager breakfast. She places the plates beside the sink, at a loss for where else to put them. There’s no water to wash, and they can’t bring them.

“We have to move on today,” Michonne announces, glancing between Carl and Beth. 

“We still don’t have a car,” Beth points out, balancing the baby on her shoulder, a dish towel laid down in case she burps. 

“Could we circle back to the RV?” Carl asks. 

“It isn’t worth the risk,” Michonne shakes her head. “Fired a lot of bullets. Sound can travel for miles, the place is probably swarming with walkers.”

“Well, what if you and I went alone?” The boy proposes. 

“What if more men like the ones who found us show up?” Beth challenges. “We have to stay together.”

“She’s right,” Michonne agrees.

“So what are we gonna do?” Carl folds his arms. “None of us know where the prison is.”

The arguing makes Mouse’s chest tight with anxiety. When Yuri scratches at the back door, she takes the opportunity as a blessing. She hurries forward, but before she can leave the house, Carl calls her back.

“Mouse, wait,” the boy says with a shake of his head. “You shouldn’t go outside alone.”

“Just let Yuri out,” Michonne adds. “He can handle himself.”

Mouse ducks her head. She opens the door for Yuri who goes outside without any concern. She wants to point out that if there were walkers nearby he’d be more alert, but she knows the others are right. This isn’t the farm, and there aren’t fences to keep her safe. She’s a liability at the best of times. 

_ Your fault. _ Lori may be the only person she’s ever directly killed, but her ledger was already red.  _ Dad, Mom, Sophia, Otis, Carol, Dale, Lori. _ The list keeps getting longer. She isn’t sure if it will ever stop, and it already haunts her every thought.

“What about going home?” Beth suggests once Mouse returns to the table. “At least we know where it is.”

“There’s no fences,” Carl says. “Or a house.”

“I mean, yeah, but the others are supposed to go back there. Did you guys find any maps yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Carl jumps up, returning a moment later with a map that he spreads across the table.

Beth grabs a pencil, marking the Greene farm. “Do you know where we are?”

“Haralson,” Michonne taps the town. 

“Right,” Beth marks it. “So if we just take eighty-five up to the sixteen we can head east over to Griffin. The farm’s just a bit north of that.”

“Those men were just outside Senoia,” Michonne shakes her head. “We head north, we’ll just stumble back into that herd.”

“Okay,” Beth frowns thoughtfully. “Then we head south first, take eighty-five to Alvaton.”

“But that’s away from where we need to go,” Carl protests.

“Yeah,” Beth acknowledges. “But it will get us to the three-sixty-two. That’s a straight shot back to Griffin.”

“What if we just go east?” Carl suggests. “Won’t that be faster?”

“Sooner we find a working car the better,” Michonne disagrees. “More likely to find one on a major road.”

“So it’s settled?” Beth glances around the group, lingering on Mouse who can’t bring herself to look at anyone. 

“It’s our best option,” Michonne folds the map, passing it back to Carl. “Let’s gather our things.”

They emerge from the house tired and hungry, and with countless miles between them and their destination. Mouse accepts the baby, strapped across her chest in a makeshift carrier, then kneels down to double check the contents of her backpack. She has a bottle of water, a single granola bar, and all the things the baby needs. Carl passes her a knife which she tucks through a belt around her waist, though her best strategy is to hang back and let the others handle whatever comes their way.

They file out with Michonne in the lead, Carl covering their backs with his silenced pistol and Yuri patrolling the sides. Beth sticks close to Mouse, her shoulders squared and fingers lingering close to the handle of the rapier Carl brought back for her after his first afternoon scavenging with Michonne.

The baby blinks curiously at the world around her, though Mouse doubts she can see more than vague shapes. She supposes that’s a good thing, so she won’t be haunted by images of the rotted corpses they pass, downed and walking alike. After a time, the child nods off, snuffling sleepily in her bundled blankets. Mouse presses a kiss to the top of her hat covered head, eyes darting nervously around for threats.

They speak little and Mouse not at all, focused on placing one foot after the other. Yuri always alerts them before they have so much as an idea that walkers are about, growling low and placing himself between the group and the threat. The large dog and Michonne handle most of them, occasionally calling on Beth for quiet back up. The teenager looks terrified whenever Michonne calls her name, but she doesn’t falter when she steps forward, jabbing the tip of a rapier Carl found for her through eye sockets to put down the monsters for good.

Every couple of hours, they have to pause to feed the baby. She’s thankfully quiet; they have few options for shelter should she become distressed. Still there is no choice but to keep moving as a group. Without Michonne and Yuri, the Claimers would have killed them all, and the woman can no more send one of them alone to find help than she can stay indefinitely watching over those who hunker down.

By noon, every muscle in Mouse’s body aches, her legs screaming in pain along with her back. She’s slowed considerably, struggling to keep up with even the cautious pace Michonne sets. Beth keeps glancing at her worriedly, and Mouse ducks her head in shame. She’s slowing everyone down. If they didn’t have to worry about her, they’d all be better off.

“Let’s pause for lunch once we find a building to secure,” Michonne announces as they enter the Alvaton town limits. The sun is high in the sky, woods still thick to either side. They pass a sign marked Woodbury pointing ahead, while Griffin has an arrow pointing to their left. 

The first building they find is some sort of storage, then the remains of a gas station which has been gone far longer than the near year since the walkers rose. It’s overgrown with vines, rusted nearly beyond recognition. Just past the first intersection stands a grand looking hall, advertising for weddings, receptions, reunions and corporate events. Across the road is a little white shack of a house and a pit stop labeled in capital letters, ‘WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS.’

“Let’s see what we can find,” Michonne waves Carl towards the white house. “Beth, Mouse, stay on the porch.”

Mouse sticks to the older girl's side as Michonne and Carl clear the house and Yuri wanders the nearby parking lot. They emerge after a few minutes, Michonne grimacing and Carl pale. “We’ll check the pit-stop,” she orders

Yuri is relaxed, so whatever horrors they found inside weren’t walkers. Mouse doesn’t want to know, but her mind can’t stop wondering. Was it a suicide, children,  _ a pregnant woman? _

The pit-stop is clear, though there are a few bags of chips and candy that fell behind the shelves in the store room. They settle down in the front, the wide windows providing a little sunlight. Beth takes the baby, bouncing her in her lap as the group spreads over the floor. Mouse sprawls onto her back, shutting her eyes as a wave of exhaustion weighs her limbs to the ground. 

“Do you think we should look around?” Carl asks. 

“We could check out that big building across the road,” Beth suggests. “There’s a bunch of cars in the lot, and it's fenced in.”

Michonne’s gaze drifts to Mouse. “You three stay here.” She pushes herself up, and when Carl starts to protest, she adds, “You aren’t used to walking like I am. Set a watch, try to catch some rest. I’ll take Yuri, scout around and see what I can find.”

No one needs to tell Mouse twice. She closes her eyes, trying to ignore the guilt that claws at her stomach. There’s nothing to be done about it, the best thing she can do for them is be as unobtrusive as possible.

* * *

Edwin stares at the barricade before them, an uneasy feeling twisting in his stomach. It’s some sort of walker trap, spikes set at intervals just in front of waving balloons or cages for small animals. 

“You two wait here,” Rick declares, gesturing to Edwin and Jimmy. “Shane and I will take a look.”

They arrived in King County more than a day later than planned, driven off the road less than three hours into their trip by harsh winds and rain so thick they couldn’t see more than a foot or so ahead. It was an uncomfortable night spent huddled together in a rundown church, bible pages burnt as kindling to start a fire. By morning the storm had eased, but they struggled to find their way around fallen trees and flash-flooding.

King County by contrast seemed almost untouched, until they reached their destination: the hospital Rick woke up in. It was nothing but a burnt out husk, along with most of the neighborhood surrounding it. At a loss for what to do, Jimmy proposed checking out the strange blocked off road they passed on their way in.   
  
“Hey, this was my idea!” The boy insists, but Shane shakes his head. 

“This goes south, you two can go find supplies somewhere else.”

“Exactly,” Rick agrees. “Don’t lose sight of what’s important. We have to find what Hershel needs and get back to the farm as quickly as possible. If you have to leave us behind to do that, then that’s what you do.”

Even if he isn’t fond of either man, the orders don’t sit well with Edwin. Still, he takes Jimmy’s arm, guiding him around the car so they can use it as cover if necessary.

Rick and Shane edge through the walker traps, avoiding the skewered duo rather than putting them down. When no alarm sounds, Edwin thinks for once things might go smoothly, but no sooner have they emerged onto the barricaded street a harsh voice calls out.

“Hands!” A man bellows from the rooftop of a nearby building. He’s wearing a biker helmet and aiming a rifle at the two ex-cops. “Now you drop what you got and you go. All of it. Ten seconds.”   
  
“Oh fuck!” Jimmy starts reaching for his gun, but Edwin drags him down behind cover.

“We have to let it be their call,” Edwin mutters.

When the man reaches six, gunfire erupts. Edwin curses silently. He tries to make himself push Jimmy into the car and drive away like Rick and Shane said, but when he pictures returning without the two men who are most important to Carl, he feels sick to his stomach. 

“Give me some cover fire,” he tells Jimmy. The boy looks at him bewildered, but there isn’t time to clarify. He forces himself up, sprinting towards the barricade and keeping his head low. 

There’s no safe path through the traps, so he gets down on his hands and knees and crawls. Rick is using a car for protection while Shane has vanished. The gunman tries to take aim at Edwin, a bullet pinging off a hubcap near his head, but Rick takes the opportunity to open fire once more. Even so, Edwin is amazed when he makes it to Rick’s side alive, his heart hammering in his throat. 

“We told you to stay put!” Rick hisses, but Edwin can only pant in response. He eyes their surroundings, finally spotting an alleyway that will offer good cover. 

“Keep him busy,” he mutters to Rick, sprinting for a pair of barrels. The man swears but does as Edwin says, taking potshots at their assailant.

Halfway through his sprint, the gunshots stop, but Edwin doesn’t slow his pace. He makes it to the alleyway, panting for breath. He leans against the wall, pulling out his gun to flip off the safety.

The door beside him slams open, bashing him in the face. Edwin cries out, reeling as he catches sight of the armored man. He’s staring down the end of a barrel when Shane emerges from the door just behind him, tackling the gunman to the ground.    
  
Edwin is paralyzed in place, gaping at Shane as he forces the gun up into the air away from everyone. The gun roars, leaving Edwin’s ears ringing. Only then does he snap out of his daze, rushing forward to help pin the stranger down. 

“Man it’s over!” Shane snarls as Rick sprints into the alley. “It’s over! Give it up!”    
  
“You don’t clear!” The man snarls through his mask, bucking and thrashing even as Rick forces the rifle out of his hands. “You don’t clear!” 

He goes limp once the gun is gone, trembling beneath Shane and Edwin’s combined weight. As Rick tosses the rifle aside and takes aim with his revolver, the man’s tone changes entirely.    
  
“Kill me…” He whimpers, tears audible even from behind the helmet. “Please. Kill me.”   
  
“Gladly,” Shane growls. “Rick.”   
  
“Wait.” Rick’s gun wavers, his face paling. “Wait, just…”   
  
“Kill me…” 

If he wasn’t so afraid he would try and kill them the moment he moves, Edwin would pull back. As it is he doesn’t dare, he can only sit there with his knee pinning the man’s left arm as Rick removes the helmet.   
  
Their attacker is an African American man with rich black skin. There are tears on his cheeks, his gaze manic with desperation. And from the horror in Rick’s eyes, he must have known him once. 

“Morgan?” Rick whispers.   
  
“Kill me…” Morgan whines.

Shane grunts as Morgan starts to struggle again, agitated by their lack of response. “Rick, We don’t have time for this.”   
  
Rick ignores Shane in favor of crouching by Morgan’s face. “Morgan, you know me.”

“No!” Morgan growls, bucking his hips. “I don’t know you! Just people wearing dead people’s faces!”    
  
“Rick!” Shane snaps. “Rick, he's crazy. Man, let’s just get this over with!”   
  
“Jesus, he has a son!” Rick responds.   
  
“You think he’s here?” Shane demands incredulously.

Edwin can only watch the drama unfold as Rick returns his attention to Morgan.    
  
“You do know me!” He insists. “Morgan, you saved my life!”   
  
“I don't know anyone anymore!” 

“This isn’t working,” Edwin cuts in before Rick can continue the pointless conversation. “Rick, get Jimmy and the handcuffs. We should get off the street.”   
  
Rick hesitates for a moment, then nods. When he’s gone, Shane snorts, shifting his weight so he can hold Morgan down more easily. 

“So you agree with Rick?”   
  
Edwin sighs. “I’m not comfortable killing someone in cold blood if there’s another option.”

“Sure ya aren’t.” Shane scoffs. 

He doesn’t bother responding. When Rick returns with Jimmy, they handcuff Morgan, bringing him up into his abode. There’s a close call on the front porch when Rick nearly steps onto a mat labeled ‘Welcome’, but Shane thinks to check for booby traps. It’s covering a spike pit. It’s Rick who notices the trip wire connected to an axe at the top of the staircase into Morgan’s little apartment. 

They all freeze up when they enter, gazing around in disbelief at the piles of weaponry and crates of food.

“Holy shit.” Jimmy mutters, gaping openly at a literal pile of AK-47s.

“This was all in that armory?” Edwin asks as he and Shane guide Morgan over to a wall. They checked out the King County Sheriff station before they headed to the hospital, hoping to find guns that Rick hadn’t brought with him to Atlanta. It had already been emptied when they arrived.

“No,” Rick shakes his head, spinning to take the goods in. “No, not even half.”

Edwin and Jimmy find medications and surgery supplies stored en-masse in what used to be the bathroom, and begin sorting through it. Morgan has more than he could realistically use, and in the end, Edwin feels no guilt in skimming even things they don’t specifically need for Lori. There are supplies here that will save their lives. 

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Jimmy asks. Before Edwin can answer they hear shouting.

“You were not there!” Morgan howls. Rick’s response is inaudible, though his voice is raised in frustration. 

“I was,” Edwin answers. “Eventually.” He shakes his head and adds, “But I wasn’t alone as long as him.” He doesn’t need Morgan to confirm that his son has long since passed, nor does he need the large red letters on the wall ‘DUANE TURNED’ to explain the insanity written clearly on the man’s face. 

Rick is arguing with Morgan, begging him to come back to the farm when they return to the main room. Edwin can tell the words aren’t getting through, bitter grief and despair bleeding from Morgan like an open wound. He crouches down beside them, tapping Rick’s shoulder to get his attention.    
  
“Rick, could you give us a minute?” He nods to the door and adds, “We need to start planning our route back to the farm.”   
  
“You found what we need?” The hope in Rick’s voice makes Edwin smile, and he nods to reassure him.    
  
“Yeah, most of what Hershel asked for. What’s missing isn’t as essential, we should be okay.”   
  
Rick relaxes visibly, a hand coming up to his forehead. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go talk to Shane.”

He leaves reluctantly, eyes lingering on the still shaking Morgan. Edwin waits until they’re alone to speak. 

“My name is Edwin Jenner,” he begins, offering a small smile. 

Morgan glares at him, but he answers the introduction. “Morgan Jones.”   
  
Edwin eases down to sit on the floor. His glances at that board with the name ‘Duane’ written in red. 

“I can’t imagine how awful it would be to—” His throat tightens. He swallows, blinking away tears that rush too easily to his eyes.

Morgan watches him in silence, his eyes piercing in intensity. After a moment, Edwin chuckles, reaching up to brush at the tears he couldn’t blink away. 

“I was lucky I guess.” The words are halting, but he forces them out. “My daughter was... she died before.”

“But your wife,” Morgan interjects. “She turned?”   
  
Edwin nods, forcing himself to meet Morgan’s dark gaze. He wonders if this would have been his fate without Mouse or the CDC, or if he would have had the willpower to put a bullet in his brain.

“I was supposed to do it…” Morgan murmurs, his expression turning distant. “My Jenny, I— I was supposed to put an end to it.” He glances towards the door, frowning. “Rick, he— he gave me the gun. I was supposed to end it, but I just— I just didn’t have it in me.”   
  
“No one should have to.” Edwin states firmly. Candace was motionless on that table for two hours, one minute, and seven seconds. Then her lips parted, milky eyes opening wide. “No one should ever have to face that.”

“I was supposed to kill her,” Morgan insists. “Knew I was supposed to, but I let it go. Let it go like there wasn't gonna be a reckoning. I was selfish. I was weak.”

“No.” 

“I was.” Morgan’s words are absolute in their conviction. “But Rick, he— he gave me the gun. He tried.”

Edwin puts his hand over his face, focusing on breathing steadily. When he lowers his hand, Morgan is looking at him with clear eyes, though the despair is no less apparent. 

“You found someone, didn’t you.” Morgan nods to himself. “You found someone, or something to keep you going. You’ll lose them too.”

In the end, Morgan refuses to return to the farm with them. He lets them take some of his guns, and all the supplies they need for Lori’s surgery. Shane doesn’t want to leave him a map to their home, but Rick insists.

Edwin isn’t sure what to think, but Morgan’s gaze haunts him as they begin the long drive home.

* * *

Mouse wakes to a hand shaking her shoulder, Beth’s eyes wide with fear as she stays crouched below the window’s view. The baby is clutched in her arms, and Carl kneels nearby with his pistol in hand.

“We need to hide in the back,” Beth whispers.

There’s a rumbling noise that Mouse struggles to place, disoriented from just waking up. She gets to hands and knees, glancing out the windows and freezing as she realizes what the sound is coming from.

A pair of big trucks are parked by the fenced in event building. There’s men as well, well-armed strangers. Her throat closes in fear, and she ducks back down, shakily following Beth across the floor as they make their way to the storage area. 

There’s no way to lock the door from within, so they close it, Carl standing guard in front of them just waiting to pull the trigger.

It’s silent, there’s nothing but the sound of their fearful breaths. They all stand as still as they can, waiting for the rumble of trucks leaving or the sound of a door creaking open.

The latter happens, sending Mouse’s pulse skyrocketing. She cowers against Beth’s side, tears welling in her eyes. 

“Come on Shumpert, maybe we’ll find some cigarettes,” a man suggests. 

“Those people across the street would’ve picked it over,” another disagrees. 

“People leave shit behind all the time—” The first man pauses, then, “Dust’s disturbed.”

They don’t say anything after that. The sound of cautious footsteps, then a banging on the wall. 

“What are they doing?” Beth whispers.    
  
“Checking for walkers,” Carl whispers back. 

It isn’t walkers that respond. The baby stirs in Beth’s arms, letting out a whimper of distress.

“Heard something in the back,” the second man calls out. 

“Biter?”

“Don’t think so, might be a trapped animal or something.”

The footsteps come closer. Desperately, Beth bounces the baby in her arms, but she doesn’t quiet down. Her little face scrunches, lip wobbling on the verge of full on tears.

The door opens a crack, and Carl shoots. The roar of his gun sends Mouse to the floor, covering her ears and curling in on herself. The baby screams and more gunshots rip through the enclosed space. It ends with Carl letting out a pained cry, his gun falling from limp fingers.

Two men burst through the door, but they lower their guns as they take in the shaking children, gazes shifting from Carl who sits clutching his bloodied arm, to Mouse who rocks in place, and lastly to Beth who shields the screaming infant against her chest.   
  
“Holy shit.” The first man mutters. “That’s a fucking baby.”


	2. Welcome to Woodbury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl adjusts to life in Woodbury, although he can't shake a sense of unease. However when Martinez brings back a group of children he recognizes things become much more complicated.

Daryl hates Woodbury. Not because of its high walls or its naive population. The walls are a blessing, sturdy enough to stand up to the bad winds they experienced the last week or so and impenetrable to the walkers who stumble up to them. The people are stupid, but that ain’t hardly their fault. Not like anyone is tryin’ to teach them otherwise. Nah, he hates this place because of the Governor. 

Merle loves it though, and he ain’t seen his brother sober this long ever in his life. The townspeople even like him, accepting his rough edges as just another quirk. They cheer his name when he boxes with Martinez, toothless walkers chained up around ‘em in a circle to up the stakes. All staged o’ course, but these dumbasses don’t wanna see it. 

“A waste of our resources if you ask me,” Milton grumbles. Daryl grunts, biting on the edge of his thumb. 

“Well, we can’t all be married to our work like you, Milton.” The Governor pats the bespectacled man’s shoulder.

“What about you, Daryl?” The Governor nods down to Merle, who is pinning Martinez into the dirt. “Do you think you’d enjoy a turn?”   
  
He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to the ground to avoid the Governor’s gaze. The man makes his skin crawl. He can’t place why, and sometimes he thinks he oughta go find the others, let them all know there’s a place they could be safe.    
  
Only, none of this adds up. None of these folks farm, not beyond little potted gardens. None are hunters neither. Most of what they eat gets brought in by the Governor’s scavenging crew, but they bring in way more than makes a lick of sense. Something ain’t right about this place.

It’s not that the pilot didn’t make it. Miracle he was alive at all when they pulled him from the helicopter’s wreck, ain’t a surprise that he succumbed to his injuries. Nah, it’s what happened after that has Daryl’s hackles rising. The Governor went to fetch the group of military survivors the pilot was a part of and came back with some tale of walkers gettin’ to them first. Only walkers don’t fire bullets, and the trucks were peppered with plenty of holes.

“You don’t like fighting?” The Governor cuts into Daryl’s thoughts, his voice low and smile filled with false friendliness. 

“Just seems reckless, s’all.” Daryl shrugs. 

“It’s staged,” the Governor points out. 

“Mmhmm,” Daryl nods in acknowledgement. 

“We remove the teeth first,” Milton adds, his eyes bright with curiosity. “How do you think it's reckless?”

Daryl sighs, organizing his thoughts and trying to find the words. “Ain’t no game out there,” he finally says. “People gotta understand that.”

Milton looks thoughtful, and the Governor glances between them. They don’t share anymore conversation that night, but come morning, the leader calls Daryl into his office. 

“I want you to assist Milton, going forward,” The Governor orders. He sits there with a picture perfect smile, hands on the desk before him.

“ ‘m a hunter,” Daryl challenges cautiously. “Not a great use of my skills.”   
  
“On the contrary,” the Governor stands up, coming around the desk and leaning against it. “Those are exactly the kind of skills Milton needs. Perceptive, patient, and physically imposing. He’ll fill you in on the details, and you’ll be reporting to him from now on.”   
  
It ain’t what he’d pick for himself, but Daryl isn’t in a position to refuse. Milton at least seems mostly genuine. The kind of smart that forgets to tie his own shoes, but Daryl quickly realizes that’s exactly what the Governor wants from him. He needs to make sure Milton doesn’t end up doing anything that could put him in danger. 

“My brother’s a bonafide babysitter!” Merle crows when he gets the news. Daryl rolls his eyes, but he don’t deny it. Ain’t no point in arguing with Merle, he’ll just turn things around and make you the butt of the joke regardless what you say. 

“So you were alone all winter?”   
  
Milton never seems bothered by Daryl’s recalcitrant responses. Half the time he’ll ask questions with a notepad literally in hand to write down his answers. When Daryl asks him why, Milton just says they need a record for those that come later.

“So you didn’t meet anyone while you were travelling?”    
  
Daryl huffs, giving Milton an annoyed look which the other man is oblivious to. “What I said, didn’t I?”

“It’s just,” Milton taps his journal. “Humans are inherently social animals. You’re surprisingly well-adjusted considering your long stint of isolation.”

“Dunno ‘bout that,” Daryl grunts, turning to examine the titles of the books Milton keeps in his office.

“Did you have an animal companion?” The man presses. “Animal companionship greatly extends the period of time during which—”   
  
“Was just alone, alright?” Daryl snaps.

Some questions are easier to answer. How he found food and water, how he took shelter. He don’t even need to lie about any of that. After all, he spent plenty of time off the farm.

Truth be told, he usually likes being around the weird little man. He might not see the point in most of the tests Milton runs on walkers, but he can tell he really wants to understand how they work. Hell, he made himself a bite proof jacket. Daryl can’t see why the Governor hasn’t ordered them made for the whole damn town, but it ain’t his business.

“Hey.” 

Daryl grunts in acknowledgement to the bow wielding girl guarding the wall. His brother’s out with the scavenging crew today. They came back late last night, talking about some place that was absolutely loaded down.

“You’re Merle’s brother, right?” The girl leans forward eagerly. “Hey, is it true that you use a crossbow?”

“Mmhmm.” He can’t remember this girl’s name, Hannah maybe? As he looks out into the neighborhood, he finds himself tempted to just go, run off into the woods and spend a few days hunting. Get away from this place and its duplicity.

“Think you could show me how it works?” She nods to her bow and tries to sound casual as she adds, “Would give you a turn with this baby.”   
  
Daryl snorts, side-eyeing the girl who's trying to look too cool to care. “I’m good.” 

“Oh.” Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Right, well.” She tries to harden her voice as she says, “Civilians really aren’t supposed to be on the walls.”   
  
He stares at her for a long moment. In the end he can’t make himself hold the eye contact, dropping his gaze and turning to leave when the rumble of an approaching engine catches his ear. He looks out at the road, frowning when he spots one of the trucks returning.

“Huh, they’re back early.”

He hops off the wall, walking over to the front gate and waiting for it to open. They pull straight through and don’t stop, driving up the main thoroughfare to the building Daryl knows they use to handle medical emergencies.

He follows behind, his pace quickening when he hears the crying of an infant. His heart is hammering by the time he catches up. There’s a girl with bound hands and a bag over her head being unloaded from the back of the truck, along with a boy who is tied up the same way. The boy’s arm is coated in blood, and he’s barely able to stand as he’s dragged out of the car.    
  
“Thank God that’s over.” Shumpert gets out of the driver’s seat, rubbing his forehead. “Worst car ride I've ever been in.”   
  
“Well maybe she wouldn’t be scared if you assholes just left us alone!” The previously listless boy shouts in a voice Daryl recognizes.

“Carl!” The girl admonishes him, Beth’s voice unmistakable. “Stop!”

Martinez climbs into the back, re-emerging with an infant cradled against his chest. The last person to clamber after him is even smaller than Carl. Her head is also covered, though her hands are unbound. The moment her feet hit asphalt, she stretches her arms out desperately, and with a sigh, Martinez eases the shrieking infant back into her grasp. 

“Get them inside to see Doc. Stevens,” Martinez orders. “I’ll go inform the Governor.”

As badly as he wants to rush after the kids and demand to know what the hell is going on, he can’t afford to. He ain’t supposed to know none of them ‘cept Carl. If he lets on that he knows the other two, there will be questions he can’t answer without revealing his lies. Instead, he jogs after Martinez, figuring he can try to get some of his own questions answered.

“Martinez,” Daryl calls out. “Wait up.”   
  
Martinez slows his pace so that Daryl can join him. “Daryl, hey. You see that mess?”

He shrugs, not wanting to seem too interested. “Merle okay?”

“Yeah, he’s finishing up the run,” Martinez waves a hand dismissively. “Me and Shumpert stumbled over those kids cowering in a storeroom.”   
  
“They was alone?” Daryl asks.   
  
“Yup,” Martinez pops the ‘P’ at the end of the word. “Said they were waiting for a group, but I don’t buy it. Wasn’t gonna leave them there with a baby, and the kid being shot.”

“You guys shot a kid?” Daryl grunts, trying to hide the anger that burns in his chest. 

“Get off my back,” Martinez says, but there isn’t much fire to it. “He shot at us first. Didn’t know they were kids when we returned fire. He’s lucky it was just the arm.”

Daryl falls silent. As loathe as he is to admit it, he can’t blame Martinez for returning fire. The only question remaining is what the hell they were doing alone in the first place. Ain’t no way Lori would ever willingly let her boy and baby —cause who else could that infant be— off the damn farm, even if she struggled to keep track of her son.

“Anyways,” Martinez gives him the side-eye. “Why do you care? Not like they’re your kids.”

Daryl shrugs. “Don’t want some group attacking us, thinking we kidnapped their kids.”

Martinez raises his eyebrows, and somehow Daryl doesn’t think he’s entirely convinced. “Sure.” He nods to the Governor’s townhouse and asks, “See you at cards tonight?”

“Yeah.” Daryl nods. He never used to like the people Merle would hang out with, but Martinez ain’t half bad. He’s always good for cigarettes whenever the craving hits him. Usually just asks if Daryl can bag him some fresh meat in exchange.

The streets of Woodbury are buzzing as Daryl makes his way back towards the infirmary. Citizens murmur about the unusually early return, worrying about injuries, or gossiping if they saw the kids being unloaded. He slips around to the back of the building, easing the door open once he’s certain there isn’t anyone nearby. He comes here sometimes to fetch supplies for Milton, so he has an alibi if he encounters anyone. Still, he’d rather avoid it in the first place.

It’s the wailing of a baby that guides him to a closed door. He hesitates, but when no-one comes, he figures he can take a risk. He opens the door slowly, peeking inside to see who is there. 

Doctor Caleb Subramanian, Woodbury’s second doctor, called Doctor S. by most, is crouched down in the back speaking softly to someone who's hiding behind the exam table.

“I know you must be scared,” the man of Indian descent says. “This must be overwhelming, but I promise no one is going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you and your sister are—”   
  
He stops mid-sentence, straightening and looking at the door in alarm.

“Daryl,” Caleb says uncomfortably. “Ah, did Milton need—”

Before either of them can try and justify their presence to one another, Mouse’s head pops up from behind the exam table. She gives Daryl a disbelieving look before dashing past the doctor with a whimper to fling her free arm around Daryl’s waist.

He and the Doc stare at one another in silence. Hurriedly, Daryl pushes into the room, dragging the door shut behind him. He might be able to salvage this if he talks fast. ‘sides, from the nervous look on Caleb’s face, he doubts he’s supposed to be in here either. 

“Y’ain’t gonna mention this,” Daryl growls. Mouse hides her face into his side, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The baby in her arms cries harder, mirroring the distress of her caregiver.

“I—” Caleb shakes his shock away, nodding in assent. “I won’t. Maybe you can help me. I just want to check them over.”

“Yeah, sure.” Daryl forces Mouse back a step, tapping her shoulder so she’ll listen. “Mouse, this here is Doctor S. He’s alright, ya gonna let him look you and the baby over, okay?”   
  
She nods, sniffling as she tries to bounce the infant in her arms. The baby ain’t having it, the little face scrunched up, sobs bubbling from between their lips. 

“Shit,” Daryl grunts, ignoring the appalled look on Caleb’s face. “Here, lemme hold them while the doc takes a look at you.”   
  
Mouse hands the baby over without hesitation, moving back to the doctor and wiping at her eyes. While Caleb directs her to climb up onto the exam table, Daryl rocks the whimpering infant in his arms. They slowly settle, blinking up at him with cloudy blue eyes. 

“There ya go,” Daryl hums. “Gonna be alright. Yeah, gonna be just fine. Get ya back to your people.”

Meanwhile, the doctor keeps up a quiet chatter, telling Mouse what he’s doing as he takes her blood pressure, her temperature, and checks her over for injuries. Once he gives her a clear bill of health, he lets her climb off the table, and waves for Daryl to come closer.   
  
“I can take a look at the baby now,” he glances down at Mouse and adds. “What’s their name?”   
  
When Mouse just shakes her head, returning to huddle against Daryl’s side, Caleb sighs, accepting the tiny child and laying them down on the exam table.   
  
“Let's take a look at you,” Caleb unwraps the baby from their bundle of blankets, and they look even smaller now. “A little girl?” He glances at Mouse who nods emphatically. 

“How many days old is she?” When Mouse holds up four fingers, Caleb lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, she’s looking good. No fever, healthy set of lungs.” He chuckles. “We can even give her some vaccines tomorrow, once you’ve all settled in.”

“You know how the others are?” Daryl probes, dropping a hand down to Mouse’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring pat.

“Shumpert is asking the older girl some questions.” From Caleb’s tone, he doesn’t approve of this course of action. “The boy is being seen by Stevens.”

Stevens and Caleb ain’t close, though Daryl wouldn’t describe them as hostile. Stevens' practice was inside the current walls of Woodbury, so she was one of the founding members of this little town. Daryl isn’t sure if she knows what kind of man the Governor is, but she must suspect it, and it’s clear where her loyalties lie regardless of whether or not she approves.

“You should go before someone sees you.” Caleb glances between Mouse and him pointedly.   
  
“Right,” Daryl crouches down so he’s on Mouse’s level. “Mouse, ya gotta pretend ya don’t know me, alright? You an’ Beth gotta act like ya never saw me before.” She turns to look at Caleb questioningly, so he adds, “Doctor S. won’t say anything, but ya gotta make sure to tell the others what’s up.”   
  
She gives a hesitant nod, so he reluctantly stands and backs away. “Ya gonna get in trouble?”   
  
“Not more than I can handle.” Caleb shrugs. “Milton’s supplies are in a box on my desk. Grab them on your way out.”

He does as the doctor says, dropping into Caleb’s office and grabbing the labeled box. He shares a nod with Tim on his way out the front, who is awkwardly fending off questions from a few irate townsfolk. Karen appears to be leading the charge, not surprising since she was a high school teacher before the world ended from what Daryl has heard.

As he heads for Milton’s office, he tries to put together how on earth the kids ended up all on their own. None of the answers he comes up with are good, but he knows that no matter the cause, they belong with their families. He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

* * *

The moment Daryl leaves, a wave of exhaustion hits Mouse. She sits down on the ground, unable to focus on a word Doctor S. says. Her body breaks out in shivers as she curls over her knees, tears slipping down her cheeks from relief as much as stress.

“Here.” An ochre brown hand enters her field of view, holding a paper cup filled with water. Doctor S. is crouched in front of her, cradling Carl’s sister in one arm. “Drink this. I added some electrolytes to it, it’ll help.”

She accepts the cup, sipping cautiously. When her stomach doesn’t rebel, she takes deeper gulps, closing her eyes against the tension headache pulsing behind her forehead. The water is room-temperature, with an odd though not unpleasant aftertaste. It’s probably whatever powder is swirling within, giving it a faintly cloudy coloration.

The door opens, and Doctor S. stands up quickly. “Oh, Gargulio. Is everything alright?”   
  
“Oh, yeah,” a man says. “Governor just sent me to get them. He’s talking with the other two right now.”   
  
“Right,” Doctor S. offers Mouse a hand. She stares at it tiredly, before forcing herself to accept his help and stand up. Once she’s on her feet, he lifts Carl’s sister, cradling the baby against his chest. “I’ll come along. This one’s feeling a little shy.”   
  
He pats Mouse’s shoulder, drawing a harsh flinch from her. The young man by the door shrugs, holding it open for them before leading the way down the hall and into a new room.

“Mouse!” Beth scrambles up from a bed where Carl is resting, rushing across the room and falling to her knees. She gives Mouse a quick hug, resting her forehead against the trembling girl’s.

“They’re okay?” Carl tries to sit up, but an African American woman pushes him back down firmly. 

“You need to be still,” she says sternly. “If you move around too much, you might tear your stitches.”

“I wouldn’t need stitches,” Carl snaps, “if you guys hadn’t shot me.”

“My men were trying to defend themselves,” a new voice cuts in. The speaker is tall with dark brown hair streaked by the occasional gray strand, his voice smooth and deep. “Still, I’m relieved no one was seriously hurt.”

“We understand,” Beth stands up, reaching out for the baby with a determined look in Doctor S’s direction. He surrenders the infant without protest, and the moment Beth has her, the girl grab’s Mouse’s hand and retreats towards Carl’s bed.

“As you can see,” the stranger with the smooth voice continues, “both of them are safe. We just needed Doctor S. to give them a checkover. He was a pediatrician before.”

“We’re very grateful,” Beth states stiffly. “But if it isn’t too much trouble, we’d like some privacy.”

“Of course,” he agrees easily, “Assuming that young man will be alright?”   
  
“The bullet went through clean,” the doctor at Carl’s side tells him. “As long as it doesn’t get infected, it should heal quickly.”   
  
“Well then.” He waves the doctor away. “I’ll have some snacks sent up to tide you over. I’ll have dinner prepared tonight, and you can come eat a proper meal at my place.”

“You can’t just keep us here!” Carl bites out.

“You aren’t prisoners,” the man insists with a gentle smile. “But we can’t just let children go wandering around with the world the way it is.”

“Thank you,” Beth turns to him with a smile. “Could you have someone bring us some formula?” She kisses the baby’s cheek and adds, “She’ll probably be hungry real soon.”

“I’ll have it fetched right away.” The leader waits for the doctor to leave, then shuts the door behind him. Although the lock doesn’t click, it may as well, they won’t be able to leave.

“This is such bullshit,” Carl mutters, slumping down and glaring at the ceiling. “We need to get out of here. Maybe we can sneak out the window—”   
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beth cuts him off. “They’ll have someone watching. We aren’t going anywhere today.”   
  
“We can’t stay here!” Carl insists. “They kidnapped us—”   
  
“We were alone,” Beth responds. 

“And that makes it okay? We don’t know who these people are—”   
  
“I know that, okay?” Beth’s voice rises with frustration. “But, maybe this can be a good thing. In here, we don’t have to worry about walkers hearing the baby—”

Carl scoffs. “So we should just be happy I got shot, and they interrogated you and—”   
  
“Do I look happy?” Beth paces away from the bed, running her fingers through her tangled hair. “Cause I sure as hell don’t feel like it. I guess I’m just glad I don’t have to wonder if I’m gonna lose one of you tonight!”

Mouse whimpers, covering her ears and rocking in place. She squeezes her eyes shut, chest tight with encroaching panic.

“I’m sorry Mouse,” Beth comes over, pulling her into a loose hug. “It’ll be alright, I promise.”   


She can’t promise that, but Mouse can’t speak to tell her. Instead, she slumps into the older girl’s side. She’s so tired she can barely stay standing, hiding her face into Beth’s cardigan and breathing deeply.   
  
“Here, why don’t you lie down.” Beth guides her over to another bed, helping her climb up and then tucking her in. “You two get a little rest. I’ll keep watch.”   
  
She wants to protest, to offer to keep watch, to do anything useful at all, but the moment her head hits the pillow, her eyes won’t stay open. She falls asleep with a vague sense that she’s forgotten something important, but the thought slips away before it can settle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! As always would love to hear your thoughts on anything at all.
> 
> On an unrelated note, my good friend and beta [walkingivy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingivy/pseuds/walkingivy) has just completed book one of their incredible Rick/Daryl series! Please go check out [All That’s Left is You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144575/chapters/42903377) as well as its sequel [Devil Deals the Cards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897319/chapters/68312782).


	3. You'll Find Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edwin and the others reach the farm at last, meanwhile Mouse, Beth and Carl face dinner with the Governor.

_ “You’ll lose them too.” _

It is evident that something is wrong the moment they pull up to the Greene farm. The fences are down, cattle and fowl running wild in the open fields. The lack of walkers is only so reassuring, and any relief they might have felt evaporates when they see what’s left of the farmhouse. 

No one exchanges a word as they scramble out of the car. Rick’s screams for Carl are matched with Jimmy’s shouts first for Beth, then Hershel. Edwin doesn’t bother, Mouse wouldn’t be likely to respond anyways.

Cool air rushes past his face as he sprints for the destroyed house. He makes it halfway there when something small and black darts out of the ruin. Mischief rushes up to him, meowing up a storm and winding around his legs. He stops long enough to scoop the small cat up, hiding his face in damp fur and trembling where he stands.

“Jenner!” Jimmy calls out, waving him over to the apple tree where they have always buried their dead. He runs a shaking hand down Mischief’s back, refusing to put the cat down as he moves to join the teenager.

As he comes closer, he sees Rick and Shane standing beside Hershel. The old man looks exhausted, a shovel pushed into the soft ground by his feet. He scans the graves and is ashamed by the relief he feels when he only sees one fresh hole along with a single sheet-covered corpse by Hershel’s feet. Still that begs the question, where is everyone else?   
  
“You sent them away?!” Shane’s voice is raised in ire as Edwin approaches, Rick pacing nearby.

“I had no choice,” Hershel insists. “Look around you. The fences are down, and we have no shelter.”   
  
“Man you could have just waited!” Shane bellows, taking an aggressive step forward. It’s Jimmy who jumps between them, trying to stand tall and glare him down. 

“It’s alright,” Hershel pushes Jimmy to the side, clearly unphased by Shane’s anger.

“Look,” Rick cuts in before Shane can start shouting again. “The prison isn’t that far. We can just join them—”   
  
“We can’t leave until Glenn and the others come back,” Hershel cuts him off. “That’s why I stayed behind in the first place. If men like the ones in town find the farm and any message we leave, they’ll follow right after us.”

Edwin walks past them all, ignoring the argument in favor of the body waiting for burial. He feels no shame as he eases Mischief to the ground and twitches the sheet aside, though guilt twists in his gut at the pure relief he feels when he finds Patricia’s face, mottled with vicious bruising.

They weren’t close, not after Otis’ death and the revelation that Carol had been his killer. He knows Patricia didn’t blame him, but she couldn’t forget his close friendship with her husband’s murderer.

Edwin knows it's wrong to be so happy that it isn’t someone else dead and waiting to be buried, especially when Hershel and Jimmy must be devastated to lose yet another member of their shrinking family. Despite the guilt he can’t help slumping in relief.

“Look,” Shane has managed to calm himself, standing with hands on hips and head bowed. “We found everything you need for Lori to safely deliver the baby, okay? Hershel, Rick and I can all head up to the prison while Jenner and Jimmy wait for the others to come back.”   
  
“No,” Edwin stands at this. “I’m going where Mouse is.”

Shane’s back goes rigid, but Rick nods. “That’s fine. Shane can wait with Jimmy.” He looks between Hershel and Jimmy and asks, “That alright with you two?”   
  
“It makes the most sense,” Hershel agrees. He glances down at Patricia, and his voice breaks as he adds, “You’ll take care of her?”

Shane’s shoulders drop, the fight leaving him as he looks down to the dead woman. “Yeah, yeah okay. We will.”

As they pile into the car, Mischief scrambles into Edwin’s lap before he can even close the door. The cat settles down, purring heavily, and he doesn’t have the heart to force him back outside. Mischief’s warm weight keeps Edwin calm as they pull back onto the road, and he knows that Mouse will be ecstatic to be reunited with her little friend.

* * *

True to his word, the man who calls himself ‘the Governor’ sends formula for Carl’s sister along with a pacifier and a variety of clean clothes for them to change into. After a long nap and some fresh fruit to snack on, Mouse actually feels somewhat decent.

She’s sitting at the foot of Carl’s bed, making faces down at the baby while Beth and Carl discuss their circumstances. Little progress has been made; the teenagers appear to disagree on nearly every option. A single point of contention has been resolved though, and quite possibly the most important.

“We can’t tell them about the farm,” Carl insists. “Or the prison. They never should have taken us out of that shop, they should have waited for Michonne to come back.”   
  
“You were hurt,” Beth points out. Before Carl can get upset, she says, “But you’re right. Until we know for certain whether or not we can trust them, we aren’t going to say anything.”

Sometime in the afternoon, they’re interrupted by Doctor Stevens, who asks if they’d like to shower. Beth agrees but demands they all remain together. The request was apparently anticipated. They are escorted to a large bathroom with a walk-in shower designed for wheel-chair access.   
  
Mouse keeps the baby entertained and dry while Carl and Beth each take their showers, peppering her little face with kisses. Beth takes over once she’s done, and Mouse takes the shortest time of them all to wash herself. The shampoos and body wash all smell so strongly that it makes Mouse wrinkle her nose in disgust, and she winds up merely rinsing away the sweat and dirt from the past days.

Still, the hot water pouring down her back is a comfort that leaves Mouse sleepy and content by the time they return to their room. Her hair is soaking wet and wrapped in a towel as she curls up on the second bed. While Beth and Carl return to their debate, she snuggles up with the baby, tickling her little tummy.

Come dinner time, no more progress on what to do has been made. One of the men who found them, a fellow called Martinez, escorts them to the Governor’s house. Beth takes the baby, and they file out behind him.

It’s still daylight, the sun low in the sky. Woodbury looks like the downtown of any small town, though the little mom-and-pop shops have been converted into homes. The street itself is busy, people walking here and there, and a pair of blondes perhaps Mouse’s age or younger go running past. The taller of the two pauses, looking them over with curiosity until her little sister calls, “Come on!” and she darts on with a wave.

_ Wrong. _ The world around Mouse spins. She sinks to her knees, sunlight sparkling in the corner of her eye. Her stomach lurches, and her hands come up to cover her ears. There are voices in the distance, laughter and quiet chatter. She rocks on her knees, choking for breath that won’t come.

“The hell's the matter with her?” Martinez grunts.

“Nothing!” Carl snaps, the same moment Mouse thinks,  _ ‘everything.’ _

“She just needs a minute,” Beth insists, a hand coming down on her back. Mouse groans, curling tighter over her knees and gasping.

“Mouse, it’s okay,” Beth murmurs somewhere above her. “It’s okay, take my hand. Just like that. We’re gonna walk. You don’t have to look. Just walk.”

She moves forward blindly, clutching Beth’s hand and crying. Her head is tight, and every time she opens her eyes so much as a crack, it feels as though her brain will explode. Colors and sounds and concerned strangers and a normal looking street that is  _ wrong, wrong, wrong. _

Knocking, then the creak of an opening door. “Welcome to my—” the Governor's rich voice cuts off and continues with concern. “What happened?”   
  
“No idea,” Martinez huffs. “We walk outside and the damn kid starts crying like someone smashed her favorite Christmas gift.”   
  
“She has aspergers, alright?!” Beth snaps. “She’s just overwhelmed.”

“My apologies,” the Governor says. “Bring her inside. I’ll get her something to drink. Water?”   
  
“Yeah, that would be great.” Beth says. As she guides Mouse forward into a chair, the smell of potatoes, beef and buttered vegetables swirls nauseatingly in her throat. She slumps forward against a table, hiding her face in her arms.  _ Pathetic. _ She can’t even walk out of a building without falling to pieces.

“Did I hear you mention asperger syndrome?” A crisp man’s voice speaks up from nearby. “I had a cousin diagnosed with that as a child.”

“Cool,” Carl says sarcastically from Mouse’s left. 

“Carl,” Beth admonishes him from her right. “Sorry, we’re all a little frazzled.”   
  
“Completely understandable,” the stranger states. “I’m Milton.”

“Beth, and this is Carl and Mouse.”

Mouse tunes out the people around her as Milton predictably inquires after her unusual name. She focuses instead on the sound of her own breathing, then slowly opens her eyes. Dark wood greets her, and her own speckled brown skin. She focuses on the table beneath her before slowly peeking up to take in her surroundings. 

They are in a richly decorated dining room, the table set out with elegant china and a practical feast. Corned beef from a can has been prepared along with mashed potatoes that most likely came from a box, but even so, the smells are so rich Mouse finds herself gagging. She draws her feet up onto the chair beneath her, curling up as tight as she can and trying to breathe through her mouth.

“Here you are,” a hand places a glass of water before her, and Mouse takes it without hesitation. She sips the room temperature liquid slowly, allowing it to settle her churning stomach.

“And your daughter, what is she called?” Milton has turned the conversation to the newborn still situated in Beth’s lap.

“She’s not mine,” Beth denies quickly. “Her mother, she—” She glances at Carl and then says. “She didn’t make it.”

“She doesn’t have a name yet,” Carl continues stiffly. The boy has filled his plate while Mouse wasn’t paying attention. He begins to put food on Mouse’s as well, only putting small helpings of each item.

“You know that’s smart,” the Governor finally sits, taking the place between Beth and Milton. “The vikings didn’t name their children until they reached the age of two years.”

“We won’t be waiting that long,” Beth states firmly. “We’re just waiting to get back to our families.”

“So she isn’t orphaned?” The Governor asks. “I’m glad to hear it.” He glances between Carl, Beth and Mouse and asks. “Siblings?”   
  
“Why do you care?” Carl glares through a mouthful of green beans.

“Don’t speak while your mouth is full,” Beth admonishes him. The boy blushes and swallows, but he looks no less fierce as he glowers at the Governor.

The tall, dark haired man seems completely unphased by Carl’s ire. He offers him a friendly smile as he states, “I’d never want to separate children from their family. You have to understand though, we couldn’t just leave you alone out there. We want to reunite you with your parents as soon as possible.”

“Then give us a car,” Carl suggests. “We’ll get back to them just fine.”   
  
“Do you even know how to drive?” The Governor shakes his head. “And even if you did, I can’t just send four children out alone. It isn’t safe.”

Mouse lifts her fork, cautiously scooping a chunk of carrot into her mouth. It’s a bit mushy, but she doesn’t feel sick as she chews. Slowly, her shoulders relax, and the smells begin to approach something pleasant rather than revolting.

“Look,” Beth takes over the conversation as Carl sulks. “We appreciate what you’ve done for us, but you can’t expect us to trust you. You don’t know what it’s like out there.”   
  
“On the contrary,” the Governor gives her a knowing smile. “I know exactly what it’s like. The things I’ve seen,” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. That’s why I can’t let any of you leave. I can’t let that happen to another child if I can prevent it, not on my watch.”

Carl scoffs, but for now it seems the argument isn’t going anywhere. Everyone has said their piece and no one has budged, though neither the Governor nor Beth seem particularly aggrieved over it.

“How old is your sister?” Milton looks between them curiously before settling on Carl. “She looks quite young. The formula hasn’t given you any problems?”

Carl grits his teeth, glaring at the bespectacled man. “It’s not your business.”   
  
“It’s just impressive how well you’ve all cared for her,” Milton says, appearing unbothered by Carl’s aggression. “Especially if you were all alone since she was born. Speaking of, how did her mother die?”   
  
The fork clatters from Mouse’s hand, her heart hammering in her chest. Her arms look red, but when she shuts her eyes the image doesn’t fade. Instead, she sees Lori’s tear streaked cheeks, pale with blood loss, her chest motionless.

_ “Mom…” Carl whimpers, wrapped around her head, petting her wavy brown hair. “Mommy… Get up…” _

_ “We need to move.” Michonne has returned to them now that the closest walkers are dealt with. Her dog stands guard nearby, on the lookout for more. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t turn.” _

_ “No.” Carl straightens, panting as he grabs the hunting knife Mouse threw down when she was done cutting his mother open. “No. She’s my mom.” _

She comes to with Carl hugging her against his chest. She’s crying, her arms pinned against her sides. Her neck hurts, and she realizes she’s scratched at herself hard enough to draw blood.

“What is wrong with you?!” Carl’s voice is loud, stabbing into her ears and jarring inside her head. She slumps into him, choking on her tears.

“I— I’m so sorry,” Milton sounds genuinely contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”   
  
Mouse can’t make herself pay any more attention to her surroundings. She closes her eyes and crumples into Carl’s arms, slipping her own around his waist. She cries and cries, but there is no one there to make it better. They’re all dead because of her, Dad, Mom, Lori,  _ Edwin. _

No, no that’s not right. Edwin is alive, isn’t he? But he may as well not be, she’ll never see him again. She’ll never see him again and Carl won’t see Rick, and it's all her fault.

She comes to on a couch, her head resting on Carl’s lap. She blinks sluggishly at the ceiling above, unfamiliar and made of wood. The scrape of cutlery on a plate is nearby, and when she turns her head, she sees one of those little wooden tables meant to let you watch TV and eat dinner at the same time. 

“Hey,” Carl says, pausing until she glances his way. She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, focusing instead on a point just past his ear.

“Beth’s still eating with them,” he scoffs, shifting his injured arm so he can pat Mouse’s shoulder. “But I thought you’d feel better laying down. I brought food over for us.”

Mouse sits up slowly, looking around the little living area they are seated in. She can hear conversation from a room nearby, but she has no desire to seek out the source. Instead, she curls against Carl’s side, resting her cheek on his shoulder and shutting her eyes. 

The boy sighs, slipping his arm around her waist and returning to his plate. There is a second one on the platter, covered to keep the warmth in, but Mouse can’t stomach the thought of eating right now. Not when she keeps seeing Lori pale and dead, and Carl’s knife pressed into the base of her skull.

“My sister’s alive because of you.”

Mouse flinches, shrinking in on herself and shuddering.  _ My fault. _ If she had only studied C-Sections all winter instead of for a day before having to cut the baby free of Lori’s dying body. If she hadn’t been so pathetic that she could only cry when that man dragged her out of the RV.

“You did what Mom wanted,” Carl’s voice is firm as he continues speaking, his arm tightening around Mouse’s middle. “You did what she wanted when no one else could, and my sister is alive because of you _. _ ”

Mouse doesn’t answer him. She sniffles, wiping at her tears. When they are escorted back to their room at the clinic, they are sent with a platter of food to tide them over for the night. Mouse doesn’t touch a bite of it.

* * *

With no storm to delay them, Edwin, Rick and Hershel reach the prison after six hours of travel. It is with a sinking sense of dread that they pull the front gate open and drive into the abandoned yard. There’s no sign of the RV or their people.

“We shouldn’t panic,” Hershel states as Rick races around the yard, searching for a message that may have been left behind by their missing friends and family. “It’s possible they found a better location to hold up.”   
  
“They wouldn’t have left,” Edwin disagrees, his stomach churning with anxiety. “Not without leaving us some sort of sign.”   
  
“They might not have had time to leave a note,” Hershel points out. “They might not have even gotten here yet. It’s entirely possible they had to stop somewhere between here and home.”   
  
Edwin doesn’t bother pointing out that that means they had to stop, and he can’t think of any good reason for that to be the case. Instead, he squares his shoulders, preparing to suggest to Rick they backtrack towards the farm and try checking the neighborhoods surrounding any major roads for signs of the RV.

He’s halfway across the yard when a distant scream pierces the air. It’s faint, barely more than a whisper. Still, it’s enough to rile the walkers in the closed off courtyard connected to the main prison, drawing some away from the fence.

“Lori!” Rick whips around, sprinting for the gate. With a horrified curse, Edwin takes off after him.    
  
Rick reaches the gate first, opening it and smashing his hatchet into a walker’s head. The first one goes down, then another, the dozens of dead inmates and civilians no match for the ferocious man’s onslaught. Rick is well into the courtyard by the time Edwin reaches the gate. He slams his own machete into the head of a walker who is about to stumble out into the field, then steps into the courtyard and jerks the gate closed.   
  
“Stay here!” He orders Hershel as the alarmed veterinarian stumbles up. “If we aren’t back in two hours, go!” 

He doesn’t wait for Hershel’s agreement, instead tearing after Rick who has already reached the closed off door into one of the cell blocks. Edwin pauses only long enough to lift an abandoned riot shield before plunging into pungent darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on who Rick and Edwin might have heard screaming? Let me know what you think!
> 
> Side note, Doctor S. being in Woodbury is inspired by [walkingivy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingivy/pseuds/walkingivy)'s super awesome slowburn Rickyl fic [All That’s Left is You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144575/chapters/42903377). Even if you aren't a fan of Rickyl I highly recommend it, seeing that I am not a fan of Rickyl and I can't get enough of it.
> 
> Also, can you guess who the two blonde children Mouse spotted were? A hint, their presence in Woodbury is also inspired by walkingivy's fic.


End file.
